A Pair Of Fine Green Eyes
by S. Gray
Summary: While Tom Gaunt's mind was more agreeably engaged as it meditated on the bewitching sight of a pair of fine green eyes, Harry Potter had already decided that Gaunt was the most despicable villain on earth. A Pride & Prejudice AU.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: **Dedicated to my wonderful friend, Antediluvian Poet. Happy birthday, love, I hope you'll enjoy this little gift as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The story has already been finished (6 chapters in total), so expect an update every three days. Be warned that there will be quite some OC characters featured here mixed in with canon characters, though they certainly won't be taking the spotlight off of our main pairing, and while I tried to keep as much to Austen's style as possible, the mature content in the last chapter is definitely _not _for Austen purists. With all that said, onwards!

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><p>A PAIR OF FINE GREEN EYES<p>

**CHAPTER ONE**

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. Whatever his personal feelings on the matter, when such a man is introduced into society, his own opinions are often discarded in favour of the needs and wants of the neighbourhood, which is all too quick to claim him for its own daughters.

Even the mother with the greatest of all intentions is susceptible to such quick decisions without reflecting upon the gentleman's preferences.

"My dear Mr. Potter," said Mrs. Potter to him one day, "have you heard the talk about the new addition to Godric's Hollow?"

Mr. Potter admitted that he had not, and implored her to continue with a minimal curiosity.

"Why, Mrs. Weasley told me herself of the young gentleman with a large fortune to his name who came by to look at Foxyard on Monday. Apparently he was so charmed by the estate that he decided to secure its purchase on the spot. Mr. Diggory—you know how much he is attached to the place—seemed not at all displeased with the offer." Mrs. Potter appeared unusually cheery about this news, and as it was early in the morning and Mr. Potter had not yet the opportunity to gather his senses, he merely raised his eyebrows in the face of his wife's jovial temper.

"Good for him." said he, and returned to his newspaper, pushing up his glasses that had sagged to the tip of his nose. Mrs. Potter pursed her lips slightly with dissatisfaction, approaching her husband's reading chair and lingering near the bookshelves where she pretended to be engaged with selecting suitable material for herself, perusing the many titles that were all related to various famous wizarding duels and battles.

"I heard he's from a very prestigious line of purebloods." said she as she dusted off the cover of a novella, glancing at her husband as it appeared that he was not looking.

"Hmm." Mr. Potter flipped a page of The Daily Prophet.

"And that he is yet unmarried, even though he is a very desirable bachelor. It was told to me that he is still looking for a young lady to suit him, in fact."

"I see."

"I also have it on good intelligence that he receives no less than three thousand a year."

"Right."

"Oh, James, honestly!" Mrs. Potter eventually cried in frustration, startling her husband. "Have you not had your morning tea yet? Is that why you are so sluggish?"

Mr. Potter put his newspaper down, with the air of a man who was woken up very suddenly from an afternoon nap, grumbling, "I am sure Mr. Something-Or-Other is the talk of the town, but you know I am averse to such gossip."

"Did I not stress to you his wealth and his bachelor status?" Mrs. Potter emphasized exasperatedly, to which her husband replied in amusement,

"My dear wife, while I am flattered in your confidence in my ability to ensnare any wealthy young bachelor, I am loath to say that I have no thoughts of matrimony at the present."

"You are insufferable, Mr. Potter," Mrs. Potter sighed with affection. "I would not dare to marry you off to any wealthy young bachelor. But enough, you have distracted me from my original purpose; do you not see that this is a splendid opportunity for Rosalie, or perhaps Margaret?"

"Oh? No sooner has the gentleman stepped foot into the neighbourhood and you are already match-making!" Mr. Potter teased, not unkindly. "Well then, what is the name of this dashing young bachelor?"

Mrs. Potter hesitated. "Before I tell you, you must promise not to pollute your thoughts with prejudices."

"I so swear that I shall be free of bias, now please end the suspense!"

"It is a Mr. Malfoy, in fact."

"Malfoy?" Mr. Potter repeated once, expression growing more and more displeased as the name sank in, a deep wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. "Malfoy? A Malfoy, marry one of my pretty flowers? Surely not! Have you lost all of your good sense, Lily? I hope you do not mean a certain Draco Malfoy!"

"Oh, dear me, no," Mrs. Potter hastily corrected, putting the book aside. "No, this Mr. Malfoy is a cousin of his, Corvus Malfoy. Draco Malfoy indeed! Harry would throw a fit if he heard—could you imagine them ever being brothers? This Mr. Malfoy, I've been told, is much more agreeable in his manners, and has a very mild temper, a cheerful disposition, and—"

Mr. Potter cut in. "A Malfoy, cheerful? What nonsense."

"Scoff at it now, dear husband, but I promise you'll be regretting your hasty judgments once you meet him." Mrs. Potter spoke with a smile. "He'll be attending the next assembly, at the invitation of your good friend, in fact."

"Sirius invited him?" Mr. Potter exclaimed in complete disbelief.

While the Blacks and the Malfoys had historically enjoyed good relations, Sirius Black had always been a rebellious youth who had disregarded all that his parents desired to teach him and became intimate friends with James Potter, known to be from a family of Muggle sympathisers, which was looked on most unfavourably by the Blacks. Intended to be the heir of Lord Black, Sirius discarded his supposed role, letting it fall unto his brother Regulus in favour of living his life freely and, some say, selfishly.

Mr. Black certainly held no love for the Malfoy family, whom one of his cousins, Narcissa, had married into, and considered them the same "ilk" as the rest of his family which he always found displeasing to be a part of. Mr. Potter supposed it would be rude even by Mr. Black's standards not to invite a distant relative, but it was rather astounding nonetheless considering the dislike between the two parties.

"Indeed he did," Mrs. Potter said with a smile, "and I'm pleased to see that at least Mr. Black has the good sense not to let his prejudices encumber his judgment. You might learn something from him yet, husband."

Mr. Potter had already resigned himself to his wife's fantasies of acquiring a husband for their two youngest, Margaret and Rosalie, but to have the potential suitor be a Malfoy, of all the young gentlemen in wizarding Britain, was a strain on his nerves.

Rosalie, their eldest daughter, was nineteen, nearing her twentieth year; a good age for a bride. Margaret on the other hand was nearing the end of seventeen, and she too was already out and mingled within the circles of their neighbourhood's society after having newly graduated from Hogwarts. Mr. Potter was reluctant concerning the whole ordeal as he did not believe a single man in the world to be worthy of his beloved daughters' affections, and especially not a Malfoy. Moreover, he believed their brother to be in more need of match-making than the two sisters.

Harry was already one-and-twenty, and he lacked direction in his life. As of late his son had been in a rather melancholy mood; his two closest friends had gotten married last summer.

Hermione Granger, now to be addressed as a Mrs. Weasley, had finally taken to wed her life-long friend, Ronald Weasley. It had left Harry in somewhat of a dejection; sighing and daydreaming, inattentive to his surroundings and in need of distraction now he could no longer haul his friends across the country in search for adventure. It was evident that the eldest Potter child was struck by a solitude so isolating that it had become suffocating to him.

Another matter that made Harry's circumstances more difficult, was that while he did not object to the prospect of a wife, he showed a clear preference to the company of men, which consisted of candidates very few to choose from in Godric's Hollow.

When Mrs. Potter had cooed about how lovely a couple he and Ginevra Weasley, Ronald Weasley's younger sister, would make, Harry had commented blandly that while she was a nice girl, she reminded him far too much of his mother to ever consider her in a romantic light. Accordingly he threatened, in a humorous manner, to elope with Fred or George Weasley if the issue was pressed any further.

While Muggles seemed to abhor the idea of two men or two women entering a courtship or marry, wizards and witches were far less restricted by religion and therefore carried a much more open mind about such matters. Naturally, the pressure to produce an heir was always present, and was often what formed an obstacle for families of nobility, especially ones that valued their pureblood line—fortunately for Harry, their family was of no such rank, even if they were just right below it and he was still part of the gentry. His relatives were supportive in whatever decisions he made in relation to his future spouse, however, and he enjoyed security in their care for him.

Still, the young man made no steps in remedying his own predicament, and neither of his parents were of a mind to interfere; he was a grown man, quite capable of managing his own life, surely. He did not need his mother or father to guide him through the challenges of society. It would injure his pride more than it would aid him.

Rosalie was often quiet on the matter herself. She looked upon the concept of matrimony with indifference, claiming that she would wed when the time felt right, and allowing no further discussion on the matter, though she did show much curiosity whenever her mother suggested possible suitors. Her past encounters had left her heart cold, however, and there was scarce a gentleman who was formidable enough to thaw it.

Margaret, on the other hand, was eager to experience all that life had to offer her. She was oft bordering on impudence and impropriety, but she was of a stubborn mind and headstrong, determined to undergo all the trials and tribulations with its risks included. Indeed, she was the most fearless of the three siblings, but as far as the issue of courtship was concerned, she was still apathetic. It was a far-off future, and in her mind, the future could wait.

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><p>After much persuading and coaxing and mocking from his wife ("Is it not you who says never to judge others based on their blood or relations? Is this idea, the reason you defied your parents and married me, only valid for the less fortunate? A convenient principle indeed, if you can exclude it from applying to whomever you choose!") Mr. Potter finally called on the new addition to Godric's Hollow. To Mrs. Potter's delight, after the visit, her husband grudgingly admitted that Mr. Malfoy did not seem to be the bad sort, and was much more agreeable and courteous than he'd expected.<p>

Harry's interest was of a similar nature to his father's; mainly a disbelief that a Malfoy could possibly be so well-bred as to acquire the reluctant approval of his father, who seemed just as shocked about it as his son was.

"What sort of man is he, father?" Margaret inquired curiously during supper, Rosalie observing with interest, as it seemed the name of the man alone had piqued their attentions. "Is he a man of information?"

"I cannot say," Mr. Potter replied gravely, "for I've only spoken to him briefly, and while nothing he said seemed untrue, I could not ascertain if he possessed any greater worldly knowledge."

"Is he handsome?" Rosalie asked.

"He certainly looks like a Malfoy. You know, blond, and such."

"What about his manners?" Margaret continued.

"He was very attentive. More pleasant in conversation than I anticipated."

"But what of his—"

"Now, girls," Mrs. Potter intervened with a smile, "let your father eat before his food turns cold!"

Rosalie apologised for her indiscretion and returned to her meal in a serenity that came natural to her, seeming to have banished the matter from her mind in an instant.

Margaret appeared a bit embarrassed at her eagerness now as she pushed the peas on her plate around in a contemplative silence, though she glanced up to her relatives every now and then, and it was obvious that the questions she was trying to hold back were struggling against her tongue and on the edge of bursting through her lips once more.

Harry could not imagine a Malfoy, however pleasant he might behave, to be deserving of either of his sisters' attentions. Rosalie was an incredibly handsome girl, her fair skin and her green eyes taking much after her mother, though her dark, lively curls were from her father's side of the family. Pleasant in all her manners, seeing always the best in others, it was not a surprise that Mr. Malfoy's name had not been enough to turn her away, like it had her father and brother.

Margaret was pretty, with her mother's red hair and father's hazel eyes, and though she was not as handsome as her sister, she was very buoyant and had a fondness for life that expressed itself in her love for the outdoors, being more athletic than her sister and exceedingly fond of dancing.

"Rosalie," Harry began cautiously, for she was the oldest girl and if anyone was to be married, it would be her, "are you honestly entertaining the idea of getting to know this Malfoy fellow? Do you not remember what a terrible sort his cousin is?"

"Though you cannot stand the sight of Draco Malfoy, dear brother, he has been nothing but polite to me," Rosalie responded, sipping from her wine.

"His intentions were to vex me by showing off how much you enjoyed his company; it had very little to do with your character." Harry mumbled tersely, stabbing at his potato. "Such underhanded tactics are practically Malfoy tradition."

Margaret frowned deeply. "Slander is beneath you, Harry! In fact, it has made me only more determined to dance with this Mr. Malfoy, regardless of what you say." She glanced at her sister. "Though of course, Rosie will get the first dance." Rosalie smiled, seeming satisfied.

"Fine, have it your way." Harry conceded in ill-humour. "I'm not sorry to say I won't be there to see it."

Both parents and younger sisters looked at him in shock.

"Wherever would you be going?" Mrs. Potter questioned disapprovingly.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lupin have just had their second child; I thought it would be good for me to visit them in London, seeing as how I'm Edward's godfather."

"That is a very poor excuse of missing out on celebrations with all the rest of your family and friends here." Mr. Potter said with equal censure as his wife had. "If I'm going to suffer several hours of dull conversation, you will be here to suffer it with me."

Harry protested, but both of his parents seemed agreed that he was to attend the assembly, and the rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon Mr. Malfoy would return Mr. Potter's visit, and determining when they should ask him to dinner.

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><p>While Mr. Potter had given some description in regards to Mr. Malfoy, after that supper he refused to say anything else of the matter, declaring that no Malfoy should occupy his thoughts longer than a whole minute, to the disappointment of both his wife and daughters.<p>

They were at last obliged to accept the second-hand intelligence of their neighbour, Lady Lovegood. Her report was highly favourable. Sir Xenophilius had been delighted with the newcomer. He was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and, to crown the whole, he meant to be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! Very lively hopes of Mr. Malfoy's heart were entertained, to the displeasure of both Mr. Potters.

In a few days Mr. Malfoy returned Mr. Potter's visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in his library. He had considered hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard much; he saw only the father, the older brother being gone to visit his friends and absent from the meeting.

The ladies were somewhat more fortunate, for they had the advantage of ascertaining from an upper window that he wore a green coat, had indeed blond hair, and rode a black horse.

An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched. Already had Mrs. Potter planned the courses that were to do credit to her housekeeping, when an answer arrived which deferred it all. Mr. Malfoy was obliged to be in town the following day, and, consequently, unable to accept the honour of their invitation.

Mrs. Potter was quite disconcerted. She could not imagine what business he could have in town so soon after his arrival in Godric's Hollow; she began to fear that he might be always flying about from one place to another, and never settled at Foxyard as he ought to be.

Lady Lovegood quieted her fears a little by starting the idea of his being gone to London only to get a large party for the ball, consisting as much as fifteen people in total; yet when the party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogether—Mr. Malfoy, his two sisters, his brother-in-law, and another young man.

Mr. Malfoy was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. He had light blond hair as was often the case with the Malfoys, and blue eyes that were most striking in their brightness and cheerful glimmer.

His sisters were fine women of similar looks of typical Malfoy-characteristics, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr. Nott, merely looked the gentleman, though he was rather plain and dull in his conversation and simple in character. His friend Mr. Gaunt, however, soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome, aristocratic features with dark eyes and neatly-combed hair, noble mien, and the report (which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance) of his having no less than seven thousand Galleons a year.

The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Malfoy, and he was looked at with great admiration for the entirety of the evening, endearing himself to all at the assembly until he could hardly escape the flock of young ladies eager to capture his attention. As well-mannered as he was, however, perhaps his character was so faultless and magnificent that there was an air of distance about him, and though he was surrounded by people and conversation, one was quickly left with the impression of impenetrability to his person.

Mr. Malfoy himself, on the other hand, had soon made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, was angry that the ball closed so early, and talked of giving one himself at Foxyard. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves.

There was another difference between Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Gaunt; the latter danced large part of the assembly with just Mr. Malfoy's sisters (only once with Mrs. Nott and once with Miss Malfoy), and for all his charm, he was firmly opposed to dancing with anyone else in the beginning.

His single character flaw was decided mid-way through; he was a very proud man indeed, and yet even that one could not count against him, for all agreed that his pride had justification, and perhaps the greatness of his person was why the tide started turning towards the end of the evening as jealous whispers started circulating, painting him in arrogance and vanity. Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Potter, whose dislike of his general behaviour was sharpened into particular resentment by his having slighted one of her daughters, as she so heard from her son.

The story went thus: Harry had been obliged to sit down after a slight malfunction with one of his shoelaces and had just repaired it but felt disinclined to find another partner to dance with so soon. During part of that time, Mr. Gaunt had been standing near enough for him to hear a conversation between him and Mr. Malfoy, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his friend to join it.

"Come, Gaunt," said he, "I must have you dance. You cannot wander about this room forever."

"I certainly shall not. Your sisters are already engaged with others, and there is not another young lady present here who could hold my attention for longer than a second. It would be a torment for me to stand up with them."

"I would not be so fastidious as you are," cried Mr. Malfoy, "for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant people in my life as I have this evening! And there are several you see who are uncommonly pretty."

"Your partner is the only handsome girl in the room," said Mr. Gaunt so pleasantly that for anyone out of their range of conversation, it would appear as if he had just delivered a compliment. Harry could hardly believe the man's words, having thought of him to be quite polite before as he watched Mr. Gaunt looking at the eldest Miss Potter.

"Isn't she delightful?" responded Mr. Malfoy with a longing sigh, glancing also at Rosalie who was in conversation with the newly-wed Mrs. Weasley and Miss Lovegood. "Certainly the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes upon. But there is her sister sitting down just behind you, who is very handsome, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

"Is that so?" and turning round Mr. Gaunt looked for a moment until he spotted Margaret, who was sitting near the pianoforte, and after catching her eye, he withdrew his own and said, once more with all charm to his voice: "She is rather too young, and I have observed her to be a silly girl who cares for nothing but dance and idle chatter. I doubt there is a single educated thought in that vacuous head of hers. No, Corvus, you ought to return to your partner and enjoy her pretty smiles. I shall take another turn about the room, I think."

What utter ridiculousness, what arrogance! Harry would have been severely offended on his sister's behalf, and he was certainly feeling the sting of it, but the man's discourtesy struck him as so bizarre that it bordered on being humorous, so shocked was he to hear such rudeness from someone who had made such a gallant first impression.

Margaret had not heard Mr. Gaunt's insult towards her, though Harry would certainly tell her about it with great spirits later that evening, and so the Potter heir decided that he would observe the man a while longer instead of dancing another set, in order to further sketch his character.

Mr. Gaunt strutted about like a peacock; it was so absurd that Harry had difficulty to hide his amusement. Walking through the crowd here and there, aloof and standoffish to everyone else as if he were a prince looking down on the poor peasantry (who were all too eager to please him), Harry had scarcely seen a more pompous character in his life, and he had the acquaintance of Percival Weasley to account for! It was astonishing how many people Mr. Gaunt had managed to deceive so easily in such a short amount of time, but his true nature had at last been revealed.

It was stunning that Mr. Malfoy could be so agreeable in every aspect, so obliging, so good-humoured, with such happy manners, when his friend was so displeasing, so haughty and arrogant. Harry wondered how there could be such a steady friendship between the two, in spite of such great opposition in character. Mr. Malfoy was in every way the starkest possible contrast to Mr. Gaunt; he must've been a true saint to tolerate such a disagreeable presence.

Harry remained seated for a moment longer, and eventually decided he should ask his good friend Hermione for a dance; her husband seemed to be moaning and groaning about dancing another set, as Ron was well-known to do, while Hermione looked sorely put off by his complaints.

Just when he rose and walked towards his two intimate friends, however, his way was cut-off by none other than the strutting peacock he had been silently mocking and berating for the past five minutes. Or rather, it was much more cut-off by Sir Xenophilius, who had somehow managed to attach himself to Mr. Gaunt who was no doubt disgusted by being anywhere near the eccentric man.

"My dear Harry, why are you not dancing? Mr. Gaunt, you must allow me to present this young gentleman to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much charm is before you." And, taking Harry's hand, he would have given it to Mr. Gaunt who, though surprised, was not unwilling to receive it, when Harry instantly drew back, and said with some discomposure to Sir Xenophilius:

"Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to ask."

It was not rather commonplace to witness two men dancing though it occurred from time to time; Harry was stunned that Sir Xenophilius appeared to have made the bold assumption that if Mr. Gaunt was not dancing with the ladies, he must prefer his own sex.

And even more stunned was he, when Mr. Gaunt agreed with the suggestion.

"I take no pleasure in the activity, but if Mr. Potter is willing, I would be honoured to have him as my partner."

Mr. Gaunt's manner was so startling and contrasting to his earlier cruel words that Harry could not come up with a response. The man had appeared with all that was charming and pleasing before him; it seemed only to enhance his good looks, and yet despite his amiable conduct now, Harry could hardly bring himself to forget the revolting manner in which the man had insulted his sister earlier. However, it was clear to him now how the gentleman had managed to wrap everyone else around his finger. Had Harry not heard his true thoughts earlier, he would've been undoubtedly charmed as well.

"Harry, you are such a fine dancer that it would be cruel to deny us the pleasure of watching you, and though Mr. Gaunt dislikes the activity in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one set." said Sir Xenophilius, entirely oblivious of his reluctance.

"Mr. Gaunt is certainly a gentleman," Harry managed to say, meeting Mr. Gaunt's unnervingly steady gaze with a stubborn look of his own.

"He is, indeed. But, considering the incentive, my dear Harry, we cannot wonder at his approving—for who would object to such a partner?"

"I have other matters to attend to; if you'll excuse me." said Harry decidedly, and perhaps a bit coldly, bowing his head slightly and turning away. Dancing with a man who had not less than five minutes ago slighted his dear sister in the most horrid way? Unthinkable!

Harry's resistance had not injured him with the gentleman, however, and Mr. Gaunt was thinking of him still with some complacency after having escaped Sir Xenophilius' attentions, when thus accosted by Miss Malfoy:

"I can guess the subject of your reverie." She looked very self-satisfied as she stood next to him, slipping her arm around his as she looked over the room with her nose turned up, her long blond hair curled, dark brown eyes peering out disdainfully over the other guests.

"A very daring claim—tell me, what does this guess of yours entail?" replied Mr. Gaunt coolly, head turned away from her and decidedly fixed on the form of the young man dancing with another.

"You are considering how insufferable it would be to pass multiple evenings in this manner, in such society, and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise—the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people! What I would give to hear your strictures on them!"

"You would do well not to project your own frustrations onto my thoughts, Miss Malfoy. Hasty presumptions are seldom well-made." said Mr. Gaunt, his icy demeanour prompting her to pull back her grip on his arm, though his gaze softened a moment later. "My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine green eyes in a charming face can bestow."

Miss Malfoy seemed speechless for a very long moment, before she finally gathered the wits to demand who these pair of fine eyes and charming face belonged to.

"A certain Harry Potter, in fact."

"Harry Potter?" she repeated indignantly. "Surely not the halfblood?"

"Is there another Harry Potter you know of?" answered Mr. Gaunt with clear disinterest, turned away from her and heading towards a floating plate of drinks, Miss Malfoy following him feverishly.

"What utter nonsense is this, sir? You are a Gaunt, need I remind you; you are expected to marry a pureblood woman!"

"So you assume that because I expressed an appreciation that I must mean to court a stranger, and a Potter at that?" he mocked as he took a glass from the floating trey, filled with whiskey. He took a step towards her, his tall form towering over her petite one, and with the warning hiss of a snake, said, "I know my obligations better than you, who have the audacity to try and lecture me on them, despite being inferior to me in every aspect imaginable, and yet so disgustingly arrogant as to claim to know my mind in all its depths and intricacies, which yours possesses not even a quarter of in comparison. Do not overstep your boundaries again, Aranea, for my patience is of a dangerously frail nature, and I will not be able to account for the consequences if you defy me. I am not as tolerable a man as your brother so kindly portrays me as."

The fright and embarrassment in the woman's face was evident, her entire body petrified under the most intense glare of Mr. Gaunt, who quickly knocked back his drink and removed himself from her vicinity, instead wandering to a place where he might get a better view of the man in possession of the most bewitching green eyes his had ever met.

Harry was in the midst of conversing with his sister and mother, and while Margaret took Mr. Gaunt's cold words in good humour, Mrs. Potter was far less forgiving.

"I would have never expected such insolence from Mr. Malfoy's intimate friend!" cried she. "My Margaret, uneducated, vacuous—the nerve of that man, the conceit!"

"Not to worry, mother," said Harry. "Margaret is not being singled out; I am sure Mr. Gaunt at least has the decency to think us all equally uneducated and vacuous."

Margaret laughed at this heartily, though Mrs. Potter could not, and the conversation was quickly interrupted at the approach of Rosalie and Mr. Malfoy, whom Harry had to admit was so different from his dreaded cousin to make him revise on his earlier judgment of the man.

"Rosalie, my dear, you're flushing! Come, sit, you must be exhausted." said Mrs. Potter, concerned, but the eldest daughter shook her head.

"I am fine, mother. Merely a bit out of breath." replied Rosalie with a delighted smile, glancing at her fine partner whom she had danced nearly every set with this evening. Harry was very happy for her, as the two seemed to be getting along splendidly, but he could not help the pang of envy in the depths of his heart. First Hermione and Ron, now Rosalie, soon Margaret—was he to be doomed a bachelor for the rest of his life?

"I shall be sad to see the night end," said Mr. Malfoy as he looked about the room. "Perhaps I will give my own ball once I've completed preparations at Foxyard."

"Oh, won't you, please?" Margaret was at once all aflutter at the idea. "I shall dance every dance and wear my prettiest dress and ribbons!"

"Margaret!" Mrs. Potter chided, though with no serious reprimand, seeming more amused at her daughter's excitement than shocked at her indiscretion.

Mr. Malfoy promised to take up the endeavour and even granted Margaret the pleasure of deciding the date on which the ball in Foxyard was to be held. Mrs. Potter and Rosalie were both most satisfied by his generosity, and Harry felt himself drifting away from the conversation, instead deciding to re-join his two friends as he saw that they had taken another pause from the dancing. Harry had danced with Hermione once Ron had put his foot down, but afterwards, she had managed to coax her husband into one more set, and Mr. Weasley looked entirely annoyed.

He approached them with a grin, inquiring teasingly if they ought to be calling a doctor for "poor old Mr. Weasley". Hermione rolled her eyes and sipped from her wine, letting her husband complain loudly until a curiosity on her side saw her forced to ask Harry about a slight distraction she had picked up from the corner of her eye.

"Harry, why is Mr. Gaunt staring so incessantly at you from across the room?" she queried, making Harry glance over his shoulder and see it to be indeed the case, to his great discomfort.

"Did you do something to offend the man?" Ron questioned, quirking an eyebrow.

"Perhaps," Harry mused, "he was affronted at my refusal to dance with him."

"You refused to dance with him?" Hermione was in a state of shock. "Why ever would you do that? Look at him! He is extremely handsome, exceedingly wealthy, and certainly the most agreeable man in the room! With such a scarcity of gentlemen who share your preferences, I shall be kind enough to assume that you must've experienced a moment of madness when you refused him! What in Merlin's name were you thinking?"

Harry, entertained by the souring mood of Ron after being subjected to all that praise from Hermione for another man, patiently retold the story of Mr. Gaunt's slighting his sister in a most cruel manner, rendering the couple entirely at a loss for words. Mr. Gaunt, the same gentleman with the charming smile and easy manners, delivering such distasteful insults?

"But he was so polite to us," said Hermione, perplexed and confused. "I've never met another man so considerate!"

"I suppose first impressions can be deceitful in some instances," Harry replied, noticing with an irritated scowl that Mr. Gaunt was still watching him. "I think myself a decent judge of character, and I was astounded at his lack of modesty—it is so contrasting to his manners that I can barely wrap my mind around it."

Before they had further opportunity to discuss Mr. Gaunt's deceptive character, Harry had the pleasure to see his godfather as he was making a round about the room, accompanied by his father, and greeted him warmly.

"I trust you young ones are enjoying yourselves?" said Mr. Black, holding a glass of butterbeer in his hand. "The evening has been quite the success, if I may say so myself."

"In that case, I have no choice but to agree with your ever so humble opinion. The music is excellent, I think I should like to dance one last set." answered Harry, looking at Hermione, who smiled but shook her head.

"I've danced enough for to-day."

"Mr. Gaunt seems to be free," Mr. Potter remarked innocently, knowing very well the gentleman was wandering within range of their conversation, "though I've heard you've already rejected him rather scathingly."

"Did he?" Mr. Black looked at Harry, eyebrows high.

"With a partner so brilliant I would surely look dreadful in comparison; I had no choice but to refuse, lest I be utterly humiliated by his radiance." Harry's wry sarcasm earned him a loud laugh from his godfather, and an intent look from Mr. Gaunt, who manoeuvred skilfully between the groups of people, walking slowly out of range again and looking away with, what Harry must've imagined, to be a curve to his lips.

And then, something shocking happened that completely twisted general opinion of Mr. Gaunt, which had been that he was quite proud and even cold, to as favourable as when he'd first entered.

He halted near Margaret, turned to Miss Weasley, whom she'd been conversing with (Ginny, as Harry preferred to call her, for they shared quite a history of friendship together), and asked the girl to dance, right in front of the young lady whom he'd so cruelly slighted before.

Margaret tensed, her cheeks flushing with what had to be embarrassment, but said nothing, and Ginny only happily agreed, probably still oblivious to Mr. Gaunt's insupportable words spoken earlier that evening. And he had the gall to glance briefly at Harry and smile, as he led Ginny to dance the next set.

"Why that insufferable—!" Harry bit on his tongue, and while his godfather and his father were taken aback by his uncharacteristic outburst, Hermione and Ron were just as outraged.

Truly, what an abhorrent man, not at all deserving the title of "gentleman" after such a repulsive act! Harry could not think of seeing more ungentlemanly behaviour before in his life, and what made it worse was perhaps that it had not even seemed to be an offense aimed to injure Margaret, which was why it injured her all the more. Mr. Gaunt ignored her completely, instead looking to Harry, as if it was a retaliation on his part, a declaration of battle. Certainly, after Harry had mocked Mr. Gaunt's vanity so loudly, he must have felt pressed to return the barb in some way, but to involve his sister was absolutely hideous. Not to mention that he was blatantly using Ginny for his own agenda, most likely caring nothing for her feelings or the impression this would leave on her. Harry hoped for her sake that she would not let herself become ensnared by Gaunt's charm.

Alas, most people present did not know of all these underlying motives. All they witnessed was that, finally, Mr. Gaunt decided to take up a partner that was someone other than Mrs. Nott or Miss Malfoy, which meant that he was surely opening up to their society, and his pride did not impair his finer qualities. His dancing was so graceful, and how pleased Miss Weasley had looked with him! What a perfect gentleman indeed.

On the other hand, it was noted that Mr. Gaunt had been quite cold towards Miss Potter. Whatever had Margaret done to incur the disapproval of such an agreeable man? Surely she must've behaved in a most unladylike manner, for him to dismiss her so coolly. It was not long before rumours started circulating, and Margaret's reputation, frail as a lady's reputation always was, took a significant blow.

By the end of the evening, Harry could not escape the assembly sooner, and while Rosalie and Mrs. Potter did their best to comfort Margaret (who was still upset, though she disguised it valiantly with her smiles), Harry was fiercely decided in his opinion.

Mr. Gaunt was the most despicable villain on earth.


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: **Your responses have been an absolute delight to read. Please enjoy this second chapter!

* * *

><p><em>"My dear friend,<em>

_If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Delphina and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on receipt of this, though I am sorry to say that the fireplace has not been connected to the Floo Web yet, and you may have to come the old-fashioned way, as you've relayed to me before your intense dislike in Apparition. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine out._

_Yours ever,_

_Aranea Malfoy."_

Rosalie was delighted with the note three days after the assembly, as through her recent but warm acquaintance with Mr. Malfoy she had met his sisters as well, and considered them fine examples of very elegant ladies, very well-mannered and polite. Harry was not sure he agreed; there was always a sort of conceit or underlying sneer in their words that had repulsed him from interacting with them any further at the assembly, beyond a few words of introduction.

"Shall I call for the carriage, darling?" Mrs. Potter suggested (as Rosalie always upset her stomach when she attempted to Apparate) equally pleased with the invitation, though Margaret quickly intervened.

"No, Rosie; you had much better go on horseback," said she, with a sly smile that did not escape her brother, "for I heard Mr. Malfoy saying the other night how much _he _enjoys the sport, and you will surely impress him more were you to take the horse!"

Rosalie was convinced easily enough, though Mrs. Potter watched her daughter leave in worry, brows furrowed. Harry slid up next to his youngest sister as she stood by the window and watched Rosalie depart on her white mare.

"What are you scheming, Maggie?"

Margaret pointed to the sky, and Harry noticed dark clouds gathering quickly. At his incredulous look, she giggled shamelessly. "If she gets caught in the rain, surely she will have to stay all night, and that way she'll get to meet her dear Mr. Malfoy after all."

Harry shook his head in exasperation, and commented no further.

Rosalie had not been gone long before it rained hard. Her brother and parents were uneasy for her, as she had been plagued by a delicate constitution since her childhood years, but her sister was delighted. The rain continued the whole evening without intermission; Rosalie certainly could not come back.

"I am oh _so _clever sometimes." said Margaret more than once, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own. Till the next morning, however, she was not aware how very effective her scheme had truly been. Breakfast was scarcely over when a servant from Foxyard brought the following note for Harry:

_"My dearest brother,_

_I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning till I am better. They insist also on my seeing a Healer—therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me—and, excepting a sore throat, a slight fever and headache, there is not much the matter with me._

_Your devoted sister,_

_Rosalie."_

"Well, my dear," said Mr. Potter to his youngest, when Harry had read the note aloud, "if Rosie should have a dangerous fit of illness and die, it will be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Malfoy."

"Oh, James, do not joke about something so serious!" scolded Mrs. Potter, her nerves all but frazzled for concern for her eldest daughter. Mr. Potter was quick to apologize, though that could not remedy his wife's unusually pale complexion.

"I'm sure she'll be fine, father," Margaret replied in complete nonchalance, "Mr. Malfoy will take great care of her."

"Good god, I could not have wished for a sillier sister." her brother chided her in turn, and, feeling really anxious for his sister's frail health, was determined to go to Rosalie's side.

He did not think he could Apparate to travel to Foxyard, as he had never been to even see the estate, and had little sense of its location. He was in no mood to be Splinched, and since Foxyard was not yet connected to the Floo Web, there was no other option but to go "the old-fashioned way".

Unfortunately the horses were already engaged, having been wanted in the farm for work (Godric's Hollow was a mixture of wizards and Muggles, and so it was only natural to accustom oneself to Muggle ways in order to blend in), and as Rosalie had taken the only other horse herself to Foxyard, Harry was forced to walk the three-mile-journey. Not that he minded; in fact, the exercise would probably do him more good than bad. He could Side-Long Apparate if he asked his father or mother, but it would be too embarrassing a strain on his pride.

"Walking all the way to Foxyard, in all this dirt? You will not be fit to be seen when you get there!" Margaret exclaimed with a deep frown when he announced his plans, being the sole voice of protest.

"I am certain my boots are sturdy enough to endure the assault of muddy puddles, Maggie, but they thank you for your concern." Harry responded wryly, wasting no more time indoors and heading out at once after getting his coat and shoes on.

* * *

><p>He was shown into the breakfast-parlour when finally arriving at the grand estate, where all but Rosalie were assembled, and where his appearance created a great deal of surprise upon his entrance. To his slight embarrassment, some mud trailed behind him, but it was corrected easily with a simple Cleaning Spell, and his sister took priority to decorum in his mind.<p>

Not everyone shared his perspective, however. That he should have walked three miles so early in the day, and in such dirty weather, instead of simply Apparating, was almost incredible to Mrs. Nott and Miss Malfoy; Harry was convinced that they held him in contempt for it.

Despite their shock Harry was very politely by them, and in their brother's manners there was something better than politeness; there was good humour and kindness. Mr. Malfoy welcomed him warmly to the estate and declared that Rosalie's recovery would be swift with her brother tending to her. Harry in turn expressed his gratitude, and found his opinion of the man improving greatly through that interaction.

But, even with this kind reception, it could not eclipse the silence from the two others in the room. Mr. Malfoy was the only gentleman who opted to converse with him. In comparison, Mr. Gaunt said very little, and Mr. Nott nothing at all. The former was divided between appreciation of the brilliancy which exercise had given to his complexion, and curiosity as to why he had not simply Apparated. The latter was thinking only of his breakfast.

His inquiries after his sister were not very favourably answered. Miss Potter had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish and not well enough to leave her room. Harry was glad to be taken to her immediately (instead of being subjected to the silent stares of a certain gentleman any longer).

Rosalie, who had only been withheld by the fear of giving alarm or inconvenience from expressing in her note how much she longed for such a visit, was delighted at his entrance. She was not equal, however, to much conversation, and when Miss Malfoy left them together, could attempt little aside from reassuring him that she felt not as bad as she seemed and telling him not to worry too much. Harry attended her with care, though his chores mostly consisted of helping her drink, wiping the sweat off her forehead, or fluffing up her pillow so she could lie down more comfortably.

When breakfast was over they were joined by the sisters. Harry began to like them himself when he saw how much affection and attentiveness they showed for Rosalie. The Healer came, and having examined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a violent cold, and that they must endeavour to get the better of it; he advised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. Rosalie, being the local Potions Master even at the tender age of nineteen (which was in part thanks to her godfather, the infamous Severus Snape, whom Harry personally detested but whom Rosalie was exceedingly fond of), requested the Healer to take some draughts from her own personal storage, not having much faith in an unknown supplier.

The advice was followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head ached acutely. Harry did not quit her room for a moment nor were the other ladies often absent; the other gentlemen being out, they had, in fact, nothing to do elsewhere.

When the clock struck three, Harry felt that he must go, and very unwillingly said so. He was planning to Apparate back to the Potter Lodge, when Rosalie testified such concern in parting with him that Miss Malfoy was obliged to extend an invitation to remain at Foxyard for the present. Harry most thankfully consented, and a House-elf was dispatched to the Potter Lodge to acquaint the family with his stay and bring back a supply of clothes.

At five o'clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half-past six Harry was summoned to dinner. To the civil inquiries which then poured in, and amongst which he had the pleasure of distinguishing the much superior kindness of Mr. Malfoy's, he could not make a very favourable answer. Rosalie was by no means better.

The sisters, on hearing this, repeated about two times in total how much they were grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad cold, how excessively they disliked being ill themselves and then thought no more of the matter. Their indifference towards Rosalie when she was not immediately before them restored Harry to the state of all his former dislike.

"Very troublesome indeed; the last time I fell ill was a true _torment_! Do you remember, Aranea, when I was bed-ridden for a whole three days?"

"Oh yes, you looked most dreadful, I remember very clearly. You've always been more delicate than I, dear sister, it would do you well to be careful."

"Indeed, imagine falling sick during a visit! I would be horrified."

"Quite. Say, did you see Lady Lovegood the other day in town? She was wearing the oddest scarf—several differently coloured patches sewn together; I have never seen a more revolting thing than that!"

Their brother was the only one of the party whom Harry could regard with any complacency. Mr. Malfoy's anxiety for Rosalie was evident, and his attentions to Harry himself most pleasing, and they prevented him feeling himself so much an intruder as he believed he was considered by the others. He had very little notice from any but him.

"Mr. Potter, I hope you will be at ease here during your stay; if there is anything you need to secure your comfort, you need only ask. Is the guest room to your liking?"

"I thank you, yes. Rest assured that I'm perfectly gratified with your arrangements, sir, and I appreciate your hospitality."

"It was the least I could offer. Is there any improvement in Miss Potter's condition? Did the Healer mention how much longer she is to stay in bed?"

"He recommended a resting period of at least three days, and I believe her fever has subsided somewhat."

"Good, very good. Is there anything I can do to—?"

"Mr. Malfoy, trust me when I say that all that can be done has been done, and we need only wait. But you are very kind to offer, nonetheless."

Miss Malfoy on the other hand was engrossed by Mr. Gaunt when she wasn't complaining about the country-side, her sister eager to join her during the latter. As for Mr. Nott, by whom Harry sat, he was an indolent man, who lived only to eat, drink, and play at cards who, when he found Harry to prefer a plain dish to a ragout, had nothing to say to him.

When dinner was over, Harry returned directly to Rosalie, and Miss Malfoy began abusing him as soon as he was out of the room. His manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of coldness and impudence; he had no conversation, no charm, no good looks. Mrs. Nott thought the same, and added:

"He has nothing to recommend him but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget his appearance this morning. He really looked almost wild."

"He did, indeed, Delphina. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must HE be scampering about the country, because his sister had a cold? Has he nothing better to do than to play nurse?"

"Yes, and his coat; I hope you saw his coat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain, not to mention the tracks of mud his boots left on the floor! You would think any competent wizard would know how to _Apparate_!"

"Your picture may be very exact, Delphina," said Mr. Malfoy, "but this was all lost upon me. I thought Mr. Potter looked remarkably well when he came into the room this morning. His muddied shoes quite escaped my notice. I'm sure he has a reason for not using the usual method; perhaps he dislikes it, or hasn't been to Foxyard before?"

"_You_ observed it, Mr. Gaunt, I am sure," said Miss Malfoy, "and I am inclined to think that _you _would never make such an exhibition, even for dear Asterope."

"Certainly not."

"To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above his ankles in dirt! What could he mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited egotism, and a most revolting desire for spectacle and exhibition."

"It shows an affection for his sister that is very pleasing," defended Malfoy, starting to grow annoyed with their scornful remarks, "and that he is in remarkable shape."

"I am afraid, Mr. Gaunt," observed Miss Malfoy in a half whisper as she ignored her brother, "that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of his fine eyes."

"Not at all," he replied, "they were brightened by the exercise." A short pause followed this speech in which Miss Malfoy almost looked scandalized, when he continued in the coolest of tones to Mrs. Nott: "In fact, Mr. Potter being so excellent a walker, as you mentioned before, is a greater recommendation than you portray it as, Delphina. A gentleman must be physically capable at the very least, and engage regularly in activities such as walking or riding on horseback so that he remains fit. We cannot allow magic to make us slothful, and he has certainly not succumbed to that danger; he has a very pleasing form."

"Does he?" Miss Malfoy sneered before her sister could reply. "He is so short I had not noticed."

"Yes, he is lacking somewhat in height compared to me or your brother," Mr. Gaunt granted, "but that might not be a fault, depending on one's preferences. I very much would like my future spouse to be a bit shorter, rather than taller, than I am—though not _too _short. In that respect," he added with a mocking smile, "I'd say his height is ideal."

Miss Malfoy's flushed cheeks, whether from embarrassment or anger, had the conversation ended there.

* * *

><p>On entering the drawing-room later that day Harry found the whole party enjoying a game of cards and was immediately invited to join them, but suspecting them to be playing high he declined it, and making his sister the excuse, said he would amuse himself for the short time he could stay below, with a book. Mr. Nott looked at him with astonishment, and questioned his preference to reading rather than cards, to which Harry very simply replied in the affirmative, and ignored Miss Malfoy's snide comment as she stated sarcastically that he must be a "great reader".<p>

"If Miss Malfoy says so," Harry responded coolly, "then certainly it must be true." At Miss Malfoy's scowl, he could not help but wonder how in the world the Malfoys had managed to produce a child even more disagreeable than Draco Malfoy himself.

The conversation continued without him, Miss Malfoy greatly exalting the supposed wonders of Mr. Gaunt's estate, Blackbourne. Harry was so much caught with what passed, as to leave him very little attention for his book; soon laying it wholly aside, he drew near the card-table, and stationed himself between Mr. Malfoy and his eldest sister, to observe the game.

"Is Miss Gaunt much grown since the spring?" inquired Miss Malfoy. "Will she be as tall as I am?"

"Taller, I believe."

"How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her skill in potion-brewing is exquisite, I dare say she will master the art before her twentieth year. Say, Mr. Potter, do your sisters know anything of the sort?"

"Margaret, the youngest, is very adept at transfiguration. Rosalie—"

"Not as well as Miss Gaunt, I'm sure. I have seen very little of Miss Margaret during the assembly, though I dare say she danced quite a bit. How old is she, Mr. Potter?"

"But seventeen, madam."

"And she is already out? Before her older sister has married?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Surely you would not deny the youngest such joys as dancing when she is old enough, merely because her sister has not been wed yet? I cannot see what harm could come of it."

"Is Miss Gaunt not the same age?" Miss Malfoy turned to Mr. Gaunt, who had been quietly writing a letter the entirety that Harry had been there. At another mention of his sister, his quill abruptly stopped, and Harry thought he could see his eyebrows twitch in a tick of irritation. "And she is not yet out, is she?"

"She is not." came the clipped reply.

"See, Mr. Potter, Miss Gaunt is—"

"With all due respect, Miss Malfoy, I'm sure you have the best of intentions," Harry interrupted impatiently, "and I am sure Miss Gaunt is a fine young lady, but the circumstances between our families, as well as the characters of the girls in question, are quite different. I would think it the simplest thing to conclude that they would have dissimilarities in their education, though I suppose that this obvious fact has escaped your notice." He stood up, painfully aware of two dark eyes glued to his form. "Excuse me, I must see to my sister. I'm afraid I've neglected her for too long." And with that, he took his leave, enabling Miss Malfoy to complain loudly about him once more.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, Rosalie's circumstances met with little improvement. Even at the arrival of Mrs. Potter and Margaret, she was still too ill to be moved without disrupting her health, and they were forced to impose on Mr. Malfoy's kindness a while longer.<p>

Harry was displeased with this, not only for his sister's sake, but for his own sanity as well. Rarely had he met anyone as repugnant as Miss Malfoy, and so unnerving as Mr. Gaunt. The former could at least be ignored, or rebuked whenever he so felt like it, but the latter was a permanent pest like a persistent rash on his skin. They conversed very little, and Harry was certain he'd made his initial dislike of the man very well-known when he refused to dance with him, yet he always had Mr. Gaunt's silent attention whenever he entered the room. Not to mention that his initial dislike had faded into a more annoyed sort of curiosity, and he was loath to see his esteem for the man rise any further.

The following afternoon was a perfect example of such an occasion. Harry was quietly devoted to pay all his attentions to his book, and yet he knew he was being watched from across the room. Whenever he looked up, however, the gaze was gone. It was most frustrating.

"Mr. Potter, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room. You are an _excellent walker_, after all."

Harry was surprised, and in his surprise could not think of a proper excuse to refuse her, and so he stood up, allowing her to take his arm.

Miss Malfoy succeeded in the real object of her civility; Mr. Gaunt looked up from his own novel. He was as much awake to the novelty in that quarter as Harry himself could be, and unconsciously closed his book. The gentleman was directly invited to join their party, but he declined it, observing that his joining would quite defeat the purpose of their walking.

"Mr. Potter, do you have any idea as to what Mr. Gaunt could possibly mean?"

"Not at all," Harry answered, "But don't worry, he's no doubt all too eager to tell us himself. Mr. Gaunt certainly enjoys the sound of his own voice."

"What censure! You are quite severe upon him, Mr. Potter!" cried Miss Malfoy, turning to Mr. Gaunt and asking to know the meaning behind his words.

Mr. Gaunt, who had been looking at Harry, did not bother to remove his eyes as he answered. "Miss Malfoy, it is quite obvious to me that you are conscious that your figure appears to your greatest advantage while walking, and desire my attention. As for Mr. Potter, I think he was simply too weak-willed to refuse your offer."

"Shocking speech! Wholly unbecoming of a gentleman, I dare say. However should we punish him, Mr. Potter?"

Harry, staring right back at Mr. Gaunt, replied: "Ignore him. He is a vain, prideful man; pay no more attention to him, as I think solitude and the lack of worship is punishment enough." Unless he finds a companion in a mirror, Harry added in thought though he did not voice it.

"Ignore Mr. Gaunt? I could never!"

"Pride, I will admit to," Mr. Gaunt said, "but vanity is a charge of which I am wholly innocent. Is pride not a virtue when it is based on one's accomplishments, rather than opinions?"

"Even facts can be prone to being exaggerated, Mr. Gaunt."

"If one possesses a weak mind, I agree—pride can be a grave folly indeed, but I do not consider myself to have a weak mind. I think you will agree with me on that point, will you not, Mr. Potter?"

"How do you measure the strength of your mind then, sir? By the number of books you've read in your lifetime? Or perhaps the amount of spells you can cast? Maybe a firm knowledge of history, politics and philosophy would satisfy you?"

"Those are fine tools for measurement, though it is lacking still. Someone with a strong mind, it follows, will have a strong character—knowledge is strength, but not all strength is knowledge. It is also perspicacity, a quick wit, a natural aptitude for observing, analyzing and understanding; talents one cannot learn but is gifted with at birth."

"Quite a list of criteria, sir."

"Do you think it too long?"

"No, I think it too short, in fact," said Harry, "as I think that what you've described can be summed up as a cunning mind rather than a strong one. A strong mind is also confident and unyielding, able to resist sin and temptation to remain virtuous."

"How quaint," Mr. Gaunt replied softly, the look in his eyes flashing to something reminiscent of hot coals burning amidst the fire, the softness of his voice like velvet on skin. "I wonder what you'd classify as sin and temptation." The insinuation did not go unnoticed.

Harry stopped walking as he watched those eyes watch _him_, all of him, leaving him feeling completely bared. His skin warmed up hot underneath his clothes and for once, he was grateful for Miss Malfoy's interference:

"Do let us have a little music," cried she, tired of a conversation in which she had no share as she pulled out her wand to cast a charm on the pianoforte. "Delphina, you will not mind my waking Mr. Nott?"

Her sister had not the smallest objection, and the pianoforte was opened and began to play on its own after a quick charm. Gaunt, after a few moments' recollection, was not sorry for it. He began to feel the danger of paying Harry too much attention.

* * *

><p>It had been nearly a week that Harry stayed with Rosalie at Foxyard, and he was relieved when she finally showed enough signs of recovery for him to send a note back to Mrs. Potter, announcing that they'd be home sooner than expected.<p>

The master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were to go so soon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Potter that it would not be safe for her—that she was not enough recovered, but Rosalie was firm where she felt herself to be right.

To Mr. Gaunt it was welcome intelligence—Harry had been at Foxyard long enough. He attracted Gaunt more than he liked, and Miss Malfoy was uncivil to him, and more teasing than usual to himself. It was quite bothersome to endure the snide strictures and haughty remarks of someone so beneath him in every possible way, and so (unwisely) persistent. It was too late to intimidate her into silence; he had no doubt the gossip of his _supposed _interest in the country gentleman who had no more than 800 Galleons a year to his name was circulating the county already.

Gaunt wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of interest should now escape him, nothing that could elevate Potter with the hope of influencing him. He was certain that if such an idea had been suggested in their interactions over the past few days, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it.

For this reason, steady to his purpose, Mr. Gaunt scarcely spoke ten words to the young gentleman through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at Mr. Potter.

Appreciate he could very well, but with his eyes only, and teasing Potter was a fair way to spend his time. However, Gaunt could not allow Mr. Potter to start imagining his intentions to be deeper than they actually were. He had no aim to court the young man, and if he continued his audacious remarks it could very well appear that way to strangers and, certainly, to Mr. Potter himself. It was a dreadful outcome he was most keen to avoid, not simply for the sake of his own reputation, but that of his entire family's as well.

On Sunday the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Miss Malfoy's civility to Harry increased at last very rapidly, as well as her affection for Rosalie; and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her either at Godric's Hollow or Foxyard, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Harry took leave of the whole party in the liveliest of spirits.

Still, even as he returned to the many comforts of his own home, his thoughts would always find their way back to the enigmatic man whose eyes had so persistently followed him about during his stay. He realized that he knew very little of Mr. Gaunt, did not even know his first name, had never heard of his family before.

It was, perhaps, best to let the troublesome object of his attentions forgotten underneath a thick layer of dust, but on an impulse (and Harry was a very impulsive young man) he decided that he must know more, so that he may determine Mr. Gaunt's character more accurately. He drew the conclusion that since Mr. Gaunt was such a good friend of Mr. Malfoy, he might ask his godfather. Mr. Black had various (mostly involuntary) dealings with the Malfoys in the past. Surely his godfather knew more about this Gaunt family?

After having delivered Rosalie home safe, he set out at once towards his godfather's estate, residing but half a mile's walk away, and since he did enjoy walking Harry did not think using Floo Powder or Apparition necessary. Fortunately, he did not even have to go for half a mile before running into the man, or rather, the man's horse.

"Merlin's sake, Harry!" cried Mr. Black as he jumped off his mare in a hurry, "I almost ran you over!"

Harry, a little rattled by the near-collision, took a few steps away from the snorting black mount, and shook his head. "I'm alright, sir; you merely startled me. Taking Hilda out for a ride?"

Sirius grinned, patting his horse briefly as he replied. "She looked like she was growing a little restless in the stables. What about you, lad? What business do you have in this part of town? I was under the impression you were stranded at Foxyard for the week-end."

"Rosalie felt well enough to leave this morning, though she did become a little unwell of having to Apparate." Harry replied. "As for my business here, I was, in fact, on my way to see you. Lucky coincidence."

"Lucky indeed!" said Mr. Black, and Harry began to recite his dealings with Mr. Gaunt so far, and inquired to his godfather's knowledge on the gentleman's family. The two walked the lane towards Mr. Black's residence, discussing the matter in freeness of privacy as there were little others passing by, most of which were in their own hurry towards their destination.

The Gaunt line, Harry was told, branched off the ancient noble houses of both Peverell and Slytherin. The former surprised him; Harry knew that the Potters were descendants of a Peverell as well, which would make the two families distantly related.

The members of the House of Gaunt in any case were known to be purebloods, and proud of it, possessing a great amount of wealth and a rich family history—especially notable being that most Gaunts were well-known for their Parseltongue, a gift prized indeed among pureblood-circles who were partial to the Slytherin lineage. The picture his godfather painted was one that outdid even the Malfoys in its grandeur, and Harry could not help but question why he'd never heard of them before if they were so prominent within wizarding society.

"There are two reasons for it," Mr. Black explained. "First, is that they are not as strong as they used to be. There are rumours going about, that the late Lady Merope Gaunt disgraced her family by conceiving a child from an affair with a Muggle while being married to another. Her husband at the time, a pureblood wizard who made his fortune in alchemy, did his utmost to quell the gossip, and recognized the child as his own, not that it helped. As you can imagine, it injured the reputation of their family to such an extent that they took to reclusion from society for quite a number of years. It was very surprising to see the same supposedly bastard son, a halfblood if the rumours are to be believed, such intimate friends with a Malfoy, whom I've always known to be quite finicky about who they associate with. Though perhaps this is more of a compliment to Mr. Malfoy's character than anything else."

"_Mr. Gaunt_ was the child born out of wedlock?"

"Not only that, but I believe since the passing of his uncle several years ago, he has assumed the position as head of his house. Lady Merope passed at the birth of her youngest, and her husband followed soon after."

Harry was taken aback by this. If the Gaunts really were as fussy about blood-status as their history impressed upon him, he couldn't imagine them allowing a halfblood to control the household.

"How did he manage that feat? Surely his relatives must have protested."

"Certainly, but as far as I know, the Gaunts themselves have been reduced to a number of two, and no one outside it has the right to interfere. There is the head of house, Tom Gaunt, and his younger sister, Asterope Gaunt. Their other relatives are spread among other pureblood families, who prefer to mind their own business."

Harry frowned, the last bit of information escaping him as he was only focused on the first part. "His name is _Tom_?"

"Did you expect something else?" Mr. Black said with an amused quirk of his mouth. "Too plain for the direct heir of Salazar Slytherin?"

"Too plain to fit the man I met a week ago!"

"Oh? I thought you did not enjoy his acquaintance?"

"Merely because he is not _plain_," said Harry, "does not make it that I think of him favourably. I am sure he is capable of many great things. Great, _terrible _things."

His godfather chuckled, shaking his head lightly. "The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks."

"You have told me of the Gaunt family's fall from grace, and I can see that being a reason for them not being mentioned much in polite society, but what of the second reason? You did say there were two." said Harry in an attempt to get the conversation back on track, knowing that his fervent denial on that point would do nothing but amuse and convince Mr. Black even further.

"I'm sure you have already guessed it, what with their relation to Slytherin."

"They are keen on the Dark Arts, then?"

"Far too keen. You can imagine that they wouldn't be eager to associate with the circles belonging to a neighbourhood as this one, being Godric Gryffindor's resting place. Similarly, we would have no reason to acknowledge their existence, until now." Mr. Black elaborated. "Though I must say Mr. Gaunt surprised me last night. I had not expected him to be so pleasant."

"Had you told me all this before, I wouldn't have either, and I would've been proven right."

Mr. Black raised his eyebrows at this, and demanded to finally know what had incurred Harry's distaste, for he did not know his grandson to be this cross with anyone, with the exception of one Draco Malfoy, though that was understandable, considering. Harry told the story for the third time, and his godfather did not seem surprised at that, having suspected that Gaunt might've been putting up a play for the assembly.

As they continued their walk, they were intercepted by a few of Harry's friends—Mr. Finnigan, Mr. Thomas and Mr. Longbottom—who invited him for drinks, which Harry thought was a good way to spend the rest of his afternoon as he had acquired the knowledge he'd been looking for, though a part of him regretted it.

Even though the circumstances of Mr. Gaunt's family were such that it should only increase his dislike towards the man, the circumstances of his birth overshadowed it. Harry's curiosity had increased a great deal as he wondered about Lady Merope and her affair. Had she been in love with the Muggle? Mr. Gaunt's childhood must have been quite something else. Harry imagined he was probably scorned by all his relatives, being the illegitimate halfblood son, and yet he had taken over the family, which spoke to his competence, a man with two faces. A very complex matter indeed, one he was (against his better judgment) eager to explore further, should the opportunity arise.


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N:** You're all absolutely wonderful. Thank you so much for the reviews; enjoy this next one!

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><p>A PAIR OF FINE GREEN EYES<p>

**CHAPTER THREE**

Opportunity, as it would seem, did arise a few days later, but not in the manner Harry had expected. He accompanied his sister as they went out to buy new ribbons and accessories, and as their father didn't trust either of them not to get carried away with his money, he sent his son with them as a chaperone. Harry did not mind; he enjoyed spending time with both of them.

"Oh, Rosie, your Mr. Malfoy is the talk of the town nowadays," Margaret sighed as she clung to her brother's arm, while her sister held on lightly to the other (it eyed a bit comical, because it appeared that his sisters had been blessed with tallness Harry lacked in as a man in comparison; Margaret nearly shared his exact height, while Rosalie passed him by an inch).

"He is not _my _Mr. Malfoy," Rosalie protested with a blush on her cheeks that contradicted.

"Did he not dance nearly every other set with you? I say his preference has been quite decided, so there can be no harm in owning to it."

"You are so very brash, sister; it will get you into trouble, one of these days."

"Maggie has a point," Harry chimed in as they crossed the marketplace. "I would be shocked if Mr. Malfoy does not call on you soon."

"On us, you mean."

"No, I'm fairly certain his visit will only be to see _you_."

Margaret laughed at her sister's reddened face, continuing to tease her as they neared the shop. As it may, she was so busy with her pestering that she did not notice a ribbon in her long hair having gotten loose until it was already taken away with the wind, and she cried out in distress, letting go of her brother's arm at once to fetch it.

The blue ribbon only came to a standstill as it tangled in the boots of a gentleman walking nearby, who was quick to pick it up and offer it to her.

"Oh, thank you, sir!" said Margaret as she took the ribbon with a bright smile. "I don't know what I would've done had you not picked it up; this is my favourite ribbon and there is hardly another like it! Though it is all covered in dirt, now." she lamented, and though she could fix it up with a quick spell if she so wished, they were out in public and they wouldn't want to risk a Muggle spotting them.

"I'm afraid I might have stepped on it," the gentleman replied solemnly. "Won't you allow me to find you an acceptable replacement for it in the meantime, madam?"

"That would be most kind!" Margaret answered brightly before either her sister or brother could reject the offer out of politeness. "What is your name, sir?"

"Ah," He bowed his head. "Pardon my manners."

The gentleman introduced himself as Leander Ferris, and the name did sound familiar—Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards in all of history, had a sister who married a Ferris, did he not? Harry and his family had been acquaintances of the famed wizard and his relatives, but he was not certain if this was the same Ferris he was thinking of. He had only met Dumbledore's sister, Ariana, once, and her husband had not been present at the time, nor her son.

When the three Potter siblings introduced themselves in kind, it seemed Harry's suspicions had been right.

"How fortuitous I should meet you to-day!" Mr. Ferris said with a bright smile upon their introduction. "I was just on my way to visit Mrs. Bagshot. She speaks very often of you in our correspondence."

"Oh, Mrs. Bagshot," Margaret returned his smile. "She's such a lovely woman. I am surprised you did not visit sooner."

"I've been busy with my travels, I'm afraid. I only returned from Egypt a few days ago."

"Truly? It must've been quite an adventure! Do tell us, what is it like?"

As they became locked in conversation on the topic, Harry was quick to decide that Mr. Ferris was a fine example of what a gentleman _ought _to be, and not just pretend to be, as a certain man in his acquaintance did. Mr. Ferris' appearance was greatly in his favour with his thick, dark blond locks and warm brown eyes; he had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. The introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation—a readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming; and the whole party were still standing and talking together very agreeably, when the sound of familiar voices drew their notice, and Gaunt and Malfoy were seen walking down the street.

On distinguishing the familiar faces of the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them, and began the usual civilities. Malfoy was the principal spokesman, and Rosalie the principal object. Mr. Gaunt, in the meantime, was beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on Harry, when he was suddenly arrested by the sight of Mr. Ferris, and Harry happening to see the countenance of both as they looked at each other, was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting.

Both changed colour; one looked white, the other red. Mr. Ferris, after a few moments, touched his hat—a salutation which Mr. Gaunt just deigned to return. The coldness in the interaction was palpable, a tension from both of them overshadowing, in Harry's mind, even Mr. Malfoy's pleasant inquiries and courteous behaviour towards his sisters.

What could be the meaning of it? It was both impossible to imagine and impossible not to long to know. Harry had scarcely seen Gaunt look so severe before, even during Miss Malfoy's often troublesome vying for his attention, and the rigidity in Mr. Ferris' poise was a harsh contrast to his earlier happy smiles.

Mr. Malfoy seemed oblivious to it all, clarifying that they were in town for some business, chiefly speaking with Rosalie and Margaret while Harry was intently focused on the almost antagonistic stares passing between the two other gentlemen, who were quiet.

As if shaking off a morning-haze, Mr. Gaunt eventually looked away and feigned interest in the conversation that was happening, pointedly ignoring Harry's curious gaze.

"We won't take long, Miss Potter; you'll be free to spend the afternoon with Malfoy at your leisure." he said simply, his bluntness taking Harry by surprise. He had imagined the man a tactful manipulator, had therefore expected him to masquerade his agitation with a neutral, if not calm, performance, but it seemed this meeting with Mr. Ferris had sucked all the charade out of him.

Rosalie coloured and nodded silently, her happy expression quickly fading away and being replaced by her more common reserved (bordering on cold) expression, though she was not as perturbed as Mr. Malfoy.

"Well," Malfoy stammered, glancing nervously at Rosalie, and frowning in disappointment to see her warm smile gone, "well, right, we, er… right. We ought to…"

"_Go_?" Mr. Gaunt finished abruptly.

"Yes, yes indeed! Business can't wait. It'll just be an hour, I'm-I'm sure." By this point Mr. Gaunt had already turned around and had left, Mr. Malfoy stuttering his goodbyes before he departed as well.

Rosalie and Margaret, puzzled by the sudden departure, looked toward their brother and Mr. Ferris for answers, the former of which being just as bemused. The latter quietly suggested to guide them to a nearby shop that, in his opinion, sold quality ribbons that would befit the beauty of the two young ladies newly in his acquaintance.

Their conversation moved to discussing the ball that would be soon held at Foxyard, as during the sisters' talk with Mr. Malfoy, Margaret had suggested the date for it to be next Thursday, and Mr. Malfoy having happily agreed with it. Harry couldn't say he was looking forward to it, considering who else would be present, and inquired if Mr. Ferris had any plans of attending.

"I have not yet decided," the gentleman replied, "considering the other attendees."

Harry initially thought that what he chiefly wished to hear he could not hope to be told, but it seemed Mr. Ferris was as eager to tell him as Harry was eager to know. As Rosalie and Margaret quickly went into the shop, the two men lingered a bit outside.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter: how far is Foxyard from Godric's Hollow?"

"Around three miles."

"And how long has Mr. Gaunt been staying there?"

"Three weeks, I believe." Harry eyed his new acquaintance curiously and, unwilling to let the subject drop, added, "He owns a large estate near London himself, I understand."

"Yes," replied Mr. Ferris, "his estate there is a grand one. A clear seven thousand per annum. I've spent many days near the place myself, though I have never been inside to see the interior."

Harry was surprised at this, and wondered what kind of history the two men might share, but was not so improper as to ask without Mr. Ferris' prompting, which the gentleman was all too happy to give during the course of the conversation.

"Are you much acquainted with Mr. Gaunt?"

"Somewhat," said Harry. "I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I'm not sure what to think."

"He is a complicated man," admitted Mr. Ferris with a smile that eyed somewhat sad. "I've known him ever since I was a boy. He always had a way of charming the people around him."

Harry turned away to look into the texture shop's windows, watching Margaret raise a red and green ribbon up to Rosalie, who picked the green one with a shy smile. "He certainly attempted as much with me, but I was fortunate enough to glimpse at his true character and I cannot think as favourably of him as some tend to do."

There was a pause in their conversation, and while Harry was polite enough to ignore the scrutiny of the odd stare he received from Mr. Ferris, he could not help but tense in self-consciousness.

"You are one of the few, then. Those other few including me, and my uncle."

"Your uncle?" Harry looked to Mr. Ferris again only to find an earnest smile on his lips.

"Albus Dumbledore. I understood from him that you used to be under his tutelage as a boy." Mr. Ferris clarified. "Another reason I was so eager to meet you. He speaks very highly of you; I think you must be his favourite pupil."

"Oh, er, I can't admit to that," he looked down at his shoes, overcome by a strong sense of modesty. "There were several students of his far more talented than I." Harry grinned sheepishly as he thought back fondly of the memories he had of Hogwarts.

From the first day, it had become a second home to him, and he missed it dearly. The Transifguration Professor had been his own favourite teacher, his calm and patient manner a great method for him to do far better in the subject than what came naturally, and at times, the Professor would offer personal advice to him, even listening to the most trivial of Harry's problems. He would've never expected the favouritism to be returned. After graduation, he had even considered applying for the open spot of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, in which Professor Dumbledore had encouraged him, but at the same time urged him to take the time to experience the world and explore his options.

Harry sometimes wrote to him, usually once a month, as he knew how busy the wizard was and did not want to become a bother to him. In the four years after his graduation, he'd successfully completed Auror training and had worked as one for quite some time, until finally the bureaucracy that came hand in hand with the profession had driven him away from it, and he found himself back in Godric's Hollow with his parents and sisters. Rosalie was the local Potions Master, while Margaret was still deciding what to do with her life, having newly graduated from Hogwarts herself.

"I'm sure you don't do yourself enough credit, Mr. Potter, though your modesty is most refreshing to see. I've heard you completed Auror training; that alone, I think, speaks to your competence." Ferris said, and Harry was surprised to see him sincere and not seeming to say this just out of decorum. He wasn't sure what to reply to the compliment, given to him by such an agreeable gentleman at that, and merely mumbled his thanks—something he supposed must've eyed as reticent, but Mr. Ferris smiled good-naturedly with a twinkle in his eyes, a sight he found quite enchanting.

Putting aside Ferris' likable character, Harry briefly wondered what his old Professor was up to nowadays, though did not have the opportunity to ask the question as Mr. Ferris posed his own. "Has my uncle ever mentioned Mr. Gaunt to you?"

"No," Harry answered, a bit confused. "Should he have?"

"I suppose it is an old matter, but Mr. Gaunt used to attend Hogwarts as well."

This startled him. "I thought the Gaunts were recluses?"

Mr. Ferris laughed, shaking his head slightly, hair falling over his eyes and creating shadows that only highlighted the brightness of his irises. Harry appreciated the sight for a moment, until Mr. Ferris' words distracted him. "A common misconception. While they were hardly out and about in society, the children were properly educated, though they were sent to different schools. Mr. Gaunt, in fact, was incredibly popular during his time in Hogwarts."

"I've never heard of him during my time," Harry replied. "Perhaps he already graduated by the time I entered?"

"Most likely, yes. While nearly the entire staff there and the student body alike adored him, my uncle was the only one who was not taken in by his charisma. As you can imagine, this was quite frustrating to Mr. Gaunt, and though there was never any open animosity, there were some clear hints to his dislike. It was the reason Mr. Gaunt sent away his sister to a school in France instead of Hogwarts; he could not tolerate the thought of Asterope being influenced by his adversary. He quite despises my uncle."

"And you, for being related to him?" Harry ventured to guess, remembering the cold manner in which the two greeted each other, to which Mr. Ferris gave him a wry smile. He also noted the casual use of Miss Gaunt's first name, and made that his next question to ask his relationship to the lady in question when Mr. Ferris' response diverted him from it.

"That is one of his reasons, I'm sure, though there are graver sins I've committed in his eyes."

Before Harry could inquire what these sins entailed, his sisters exited the shop again, having purchased three new ribbons each, and the party decided to split as Mr. Ferris still had his visit to Mrs. Bagshot to make, and the three siblings had no more business inside the town.

On the way back home, Harry was silent, left to his thoughts and ponderings on all the newly acquired information. His impression of Mr. Gaunt was certainly left injured even further—to despise someone as good and kind as his old mentor wasn't something Harry had imagined anyone capable of, and yet Gaunt's pride surprised him yet again. Apparently the man thought it unacceptable that _anyone _should see through his act and recognize him for the villain he really was, even going so far as to deny his own sister the joy of Hogwarts.

It was odd that Professor Dumbledore had never mentioned Mr. Gaunt, however, but perhaps he'd never had any reason to. Harry quickly decided to mention the matter in his next letter to his old teacher, and was determined to question Mr. Ferris further on these supposed "sins" he was being held accountable for.

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><p>The day of the ball finally came around.<p>

Till Harry entered the drawing-room at Foxyard and looked in vain for Mr. Ferris among the cluster of people there assembled, a doubt of his being present had never occurred to him. He had dressed with more than usual care, perhaps unconsciously so, but it was undeniable that the first impression he was left with had made quite an impact on him. Mr. Gaunt was the ideal _portrayal _of a gentleman, while Mr. Ferris was one in the flesh. He had undeniably felt eager to further their acquaintance, and even to his own shock, found himself looking forward to it most eagerly earlier that morning.

But, regardless of his personal interest in the man, he could not in good conscience take his word for the story he'd told of Mr. Gaunt without confirming it with another party. Harry had gone even so far, in all his curiosity, to ask Rosalie if she could inquire with Mr. Malfoy of Mr. Ferris' and Mr. Gaunt's history, as it would be somewhat _too _gullible for him if he accepted Ferris' account without searching for the other side of his story. After hearing what Ferris related to her brother, Rosalie was more than willing to provide a helping hand.

But at noting the man's absence, in an instant arose the dreadful suspicion of his being purposely omitted for Mr. Gaunt's pleasure in the invitations; and though this was not exactly the case, the absolute fact of his absence was pronounced by his close acquaintance Mrs. Bagshot, to whom Margaret eagerly applied, and who told them that Ferris had been obliged to go to town on business the day before, and was not yet returned, adding, with a significant smile, "I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wanted to avoid a certain gentleman here."

This part of the intelligence, though unheard by Margaret, was caught by Harry, and it assured him that Gaunt was not less answerable for Ferris' absence than if his first conjecture had been accurate. Every feeling of displeasure against the former was so sharpened by immediate disappointment, that Harry could hardly reply with tolerable civility to the inquiries which Mr. Gaunt directly afterwards approached to make, when he somehow found Harry in the midst of the crowd. His singling him out was most peculiar especially because he had practically ignored Harry completely just a few days ago, when Rosalie had been ill at Foxyard and Harry had been a guest. They'd been sitting in the library for quite a while, and Gaunt had barely spoken to him, hardly given him any attention.

The memory only further aggravated Harry, who at once felt exasperated at the man's perplexing behaviour, and found his tolerance to be entirely depleted at their reunion.

"From your unblemished appearance, can I assume that this time you did not _walk _three miles to Foxyard?" Gaunt's sarcasm in particular fell in bad taste.

Harry frowned slightly. "I am fully capable of Apparating anywhere once I've observed the place a time before."

"Of course," said Mr. Gaunt, now looking entirely serious. "I did not mean to imply otherwise. Rosalie has recovered fully from her cold, I take it?" His usage of her given name—of anyone's given name as was his habit—was a further source for irritation.

"She's quite well," Harry replied coolly. "Excuse me." And he turned away.

His pestering, his concern, his politeness; which was a façade, and which was genuine? He could not tell, nor had the patience to find the answer. Gaunt was playing a game of masks, and Harry had always harboured a fervent dislike for masks.

Even so, Harry was decided on not letting his ill-humour spoil everything for his friends and family. Though every prospect of his own was destroyed for the evening, it could not dwell long on his spirits; having told all her grieves to Hermione and Ron, whom he had not seen for a week, he was soon able to make a voluntary transition to the activity of dancing and seeking out his other friends. Luna Lovegood's eccentricity, Neville Longbottom's always clumsy but valiant attempts at socialising, the Weasley twins' humorous conversations and Ginny's cheerful insisting on a dance with him all but refreshed him and made him forget about his frustrations for the moment. It was even further propelled by a conversation with Mrs. Bagshot, who talked of Mr. Ferris with great affection, detailing his profession as a Curse Breaker and many travels all over the world, as it seemed to go against his nature to stay in one spot for too long.

Dancing the next set with Luna, he returned Ron and Hermione after it ended and was in conversation with them when he found himself suddenly addressed by Mr. Gaunt who took him so much by surprise in his application for Harry's hand, that, without knowing what he did, he accepted him. Gaunt walked away again with a satisfied little smile, and Harry was left to fret over the predicament his impulsivity had gotten him in now.

"What have you possibly to fear?" said Hermione. "I dare say he will be as charming as he is to everyone else. Perhaps even _more _charming to you."

"You cannot possibly think that he likes me," Harry scowled just contemplating the notion. "That would be a great misfortune; to find a man agreeable who is determined to hate him in turn."

"I think he really might be suffering a great misfortune then." Ron replied, nodding to Mr. Gaunt who was standing now on the other side of the room, conversing with a few guests though his eyes often glanced in Harry's direction.

"Nonsense," Harry grumbled, crossing his arms and pointedly looking away. Certainly Mr. Gaunt could not _possibly _fancy him? He was far below him in both social circles and wealth, and Harry was certain he'd made his own dislike of the man very clear in numerous instances. Gaunt was simply toying with him. That was all.

When the dancing recommenced, however, and Gaunt approached to claim his hand, Hermione could not help cautioning him in a whisper not to be a simpleton, and allow his fancy for Ferris to make him appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man ten times his consequence. Harry made no answer, obstinate in his loathing, and took his place in the set, reading in his neighbours' looks that spoke of their amazement in beholding the unlikely pair.

The two stood for some time without speaking a word and Harry began to imagine that their silence was to last through the dance, and at once was resolved not to break it.

Naturally, as the music started, Mr. Gaunt did not allow him that luxury and immediately started a conversation. "Forgive me for prying," he said in a voice not at all apologetic, "but you seem to be missing the presence of a certain someone."

"I'm sure you already know who that is; there's no need to play games, Mr. Gaunt." Harry replied bluntly, dreading each step forward, each movement that allowed contact between them that set him on edge. He did his best to pretend he was dancing with another, but even he could not deny that when faced with Gaunt like this, no one could fill his shoes, not even with Harry's imagination. At least in appearance alone, even Harry could not deny that Gaunt was undoubtedly the handsomest man in his acquaintance, out-shining even his recently met Mr. Ferris.

"I see you've already decided to condemn me for crimes I did not commit, though I am sure Mr. Ferris was delighted in telling you about them, even in your extremely short acquaintance." Mr. Gaunt responded unperturbed, grating on Harry's nerves only further by his unshakable composure.

"And naturally you're _completely_ innocent." he bit back.

"I never claimed as much." Mr. Gaunt replied smoothly, hand briefly touching on his waist as they turned with the dance, dark eyes steadily peering into his brighter ones.

If Harry disliked Mr. Gaunt's character, then he certainly reviled the effect his touch had on him despite his decision in despising the man. It was intolerable to be so intrigued and taken by him, to feel this burningly physical attraction between them when the man's personality was so abhorrent. But he could not suppress it, could not stop the shivers and sparks of heat in his stomach with every brush of fingers and scorching stare.

"No one is completely innocent," Mr. Gaunt continued, "not even Mr. Ferris."

Harry tried steering his thoughts away from the man's lips that looked temptingly soft from up close, focusing on his words. "And what has he done, besides being born a nephew to someone you hate?"

Gaunt's jaw tensed briefly; a speck of displeasure in his otherwise gallant countenance. "I sincerely doubt you to be so well-informed as to judge matters you did not have any knowledge of until yesterday."

"He related to me a perfectly reasonable account of your conduct," Harry said stubbornly. "I cannot see any reason to reject it."

Mr. Gaunt laughed coldly, and Harry felt oddly pleased with himself, watching the slip of the _real _man behind the mask. "So the burden of proof now lies on the accused, and not the accuser? Whatever happened to the presumption of innocence?"

"You have never given me any reason to presume you to be innocent," Harry retorted heatedly, and both had now stopped in the midst of the dance, so caught up in their own conversation. "From the very first day of our acquaintance you have been all that is conceited and egotistical, having no consideration for the feelings of others and taking pleasure in deceiving them to think you a king. Everything I've heard from Mr. Ferris served to reinforce and confirm my observations, and yet you have the nerve to deny all your faults and put the blame on another. Furthermore, you burden me with the weight of your unwanted stares one day, and pretend not to know of my existence the next—your character is not only abominable in its pride and arrogance, but impossible to tolerate due to its erratic nature. Sir, I will say this with the most civil words I can find, and will speak only the truth: I find you to be utterly loathsome and completely irredeemable. "

He was angry, and should not have said that. He felt remorse the moment the words left him as he knew he'd greatly exaggerated his feelings; of course he disliked the man, but he was not _loathsome_, he had redeeming qualities in his intelligence and competence. Unfortunately, it was too late to take it back, and for a moment, Harry was worried he truly upset the man, but a glance at his face could not confirm it; his expression was inscrutable.

There followed quite a pause, and Harry was barely aware of all that looked at them nor of the whispers already circulating, his eyes transfixed on the man in front of him, who eyed him, for the first time, with serious consideration.

"I suppose," Mr. Gaunt said slowly, "I will simply have to prove you wrong, in this matter."

Harry was so startled by the sudden declaration that he didn't think to resist when Gaunt grabbed his elbow and guided him away from the dancers, through the crowd towards a large balcony left abandoned and removed from all the people surrounding them.

"What are you _doing_?" Harry exclaimed as he was pushed outside and Gaunt closed the doors behind them, the curtains inside falling in front of the windows and obscuring to anyone inside what was happening.

"For once, I think I shall be frank with you, since you had the courtesy to do so with me," Mr. Gaunt said, taking a step towards him, prompting Harry to take a step back and feel the stone rail of the balcony pressing into his lower back, hands grabbing a hold of it as he watched Gaunt near him with an expressionless face. "I did not think much of you when we first met, Potter, and for a while you were little more than a temporary distraction. But, against my better judgment, I find myself drawn to you. I have tried to ignore it, but as I've burdened you with my stares, you have equally burdened me by occupying my thoughts, and ignoring this will not make it go away. I see myself forced to act. Do not mistake my feelings to be more than they are, however; you have a handsome face and a clever tongue, but beyond that, there is little else to recommend you, and my interest in you is purely physical, which I have observed to be mutual tonight. Let me emphasize that I have no thoughts of courting you at the present, nor will I ever. It is a miracle we ended up in the same circle to begin with, considering how inferior your circumstances are to mine in every imaginable way, and as much as I would prefer to ignore you, my mind will not allow it. So, it seems I must compromise."

Before Harry could even protest and exclaim how utterly absurd (and insulting) the man was being, Gaunt gave him a pointed look to silence him, and even if he hadn't Harry doubted any words would've been able to leave his tongue that was currently tied in his mortification. Was this man suggesting what Harry thought he was? Not a courtship—a blatant affair? He was positively reeling, but Gaunt did not allow him any moment to recompose, to get his wildly beating heart back under control.

"Had my attraction for you been anything less than it is, I would not have bothered with this, but I find myself agitated that you seem to be under quite a few erroneous assumptions as to my actions. I have an idea of what Mr. Ferris might have related to you, and I wish to correct it, if you will let me." Mr. Gaunt folded his hands behind his back, examining Harry's reddened face far too carefully than Harry would've liked. "This is not a privilege I extend to just anyone, Potter. You would be wise to consider it."

"I…" It was difficult to think when his heartbeat was pounding against his skull, and he felt as if he had the heat of a desert sun on his skin. _Gaunt was attracted to him_. Perhaps it had been the man's tactic, but when Harry opened his mouth to answer he could scarcely formulate any coherent thought, overwhelmed entirely, and ended up blurting out, "Fine."

Mr. Gaunt smiled, pleased. "Then you will meet me here, tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, so that we might clear up this little misunderstanding." He took Harry's hand in his own, and pressed his lips to it, careful but lingering, like the sealing of a wax stamp on an envelope. The soft touch made his stomach tighten with a sharp heat, and he exhaled unsteadily, wondering when the world had started spinning so fast. "I'm looking forward to it." And with that, Gaunt pulled away, turned around, and walked back inside, completely unaffected.

Harry spent ten minutes longer on that balcony, staring numbly at the back of his hand.

* * *

><p>"I want to know," said Harry rather grimly early the next morning, when he found his sister in the parlour, "what you have learnt about Mr. Ferris. But perhaps you were too pleasantly engaged to think of anyone else last night, in which case you have my full pardon."<p>

"No," replied Rosalie replied with a soft smile, "I have not forgotten him, but I have nothing satisfactory to tell you. Mr. Malfoy does not know the whole of their history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr. Gaunt, but he will vouch for the good conduct, the probity, and honour of his friend, and is perfectly convinced that Mr. Ferris has deserved much less attention from Mr. Gaunt than he has received. I am sorry to say by his account as well as his sister's, Mr. Ferris is by no means a respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr. Gaunt's regard."

"Mr. Malfoy does not know Mr. Ferris himself?"

"No; he never saw him till the other morning at Godric's Hollow."

"This account then is what he has received from Mr. Gaunt, and hardly reliable. But what does he say of his friend's actions? Miss Gaunt's being sent away to France, for example?"

"He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has heard them from Mr. Gaunt more than once, but he believes that Miss Gaunt herself was determined to go, and was by no means coerced by her brother."

"I have not a doubt of Mr. Malfoy's sincerity," said Harry a bit impatiently, "but you must excuse my not being convinced by assurances only. Mr. Malfoy's defence of his friend was a very able one, I dare say, but since he is unacquainted with several parts of the story, and has learnt the rest from that friend himself, my thoughts on either of the men involved have not changed."

Rosalie did not seem to approve of his obstinacy, but Harry's indifference prevented her from influencing him as she seemed certain that with Mr. Gaunt being _Mr. Malfoy's _intimate friend, there had to be some good qualities to him that Harry might be overlooking out of prejudice.

Her brother himself was steadfast in his dislike of the gentleman, supported wholeheartedly by his father and Margaret, neither which had anything of praise to give Mr. Gaunt—it was rather astonishing to them, therefore, that Harry should visit the focus of his odium.

As much as Mr. Gaunt had made himself unlikable in nearly every way, Harry was still a practitioner of gifting others with second chances, and was convinced that once Gaunt wasted his (as Harry couldn't imagine any way in which his opinion of him might be changed), he would finally be able to move on from actively loathing the man to simply ignoring his presence. His second motive, however, was not that pure. Last night had intrigued him beyond anything he could ignore; he'd never felt himself so singularly, and physically, attracted to anyone before, and the entire night he'd spent tossing and turning in his bed, his memory replaying the kiss and his imagination escalating it to the most improper images, until he felt that he might suffocate from the heat his body was radiating.

He was therefore willing to sacrifice his morning to visit Foxyard, and resolve this situation once and for all.

In his eagerness to settle the matter, Harry Apparated to the front of Foxyard a bit earlier than ten o'clock, his wand (that was usually hidden in an inner pocket of his coat) safely tucked in the front-pocket of his trousers, in easy reach for his hand. It was not that he felt threatened by Mr. Gaunt, but a bit of posturing seemed necessary since he would be alone at Foxyard, and he would not be surprised to note the absence of Mr. Malfoy upon his arrival.

He took a deep breath of the fresh, morning air as he looked upon the three-story estate for a moment, pondering on whether it was truly wise to walk into the lion's den like this, when he noticed the form of a man standing near the windows inside the manor. Though his face was turned away, Harry immediately recognized Gaunt by his dark hair and tall form. He seemed to be in conversation with someone out of view, Harry unable to catch a single glimpse even as he walked up the steps to the front doors.

A knock on the door prompted a House-elf to open it for him, and not three seconds after Harry entered the estate, Gaunt himself came walking down from the corridor, completely neglecting the usual protocol for greeting your guests.

"You are early." Mr. Gaunt remarked, and Harry's relatively confident poise was undermined with the look-over he got from Gaunt's eyes.

"I had no prior engagements," Harry offered as an excuse, noticing the tension in Gaunt's shoulders, his demeanour less of calm and more of a forced stoicism. "Did I interrupt something? I could wait in the—"

"Not at all." Gaunt replied tersely, stepping outside. Harry raised his eyebrows, but did not question, following him closely. "Do you enjoy taking morning walks, Potter?"

"I am not against it." Harry said cautiously, catching up with Gaunt's fast pace and walking next to him.

He noticed they were heading towards a more secluded area off the road sheltered by many trees, and his hand hovered close to his wand from instinct, the potential danger setting his senses on guard. Gaunt himself eyed not entirely at ease either, but Harry could not tell whether it was from a potential scheme (which seemed unlikely, as he would not have let any sign of discomfort show _had _he been scheming something) or something entirely unrelated.

"At the ball, you laid several charges at my feet, most of which pertain to certain flaws you see in my character." Mr. Gaunt said as they walked between the trees. "I would have defended myself then and there, had we not been in view of the public eye, and had you not let your hatred cloud your rationality."

"I was not—"

Gaunt stopped walking for a moment and raised his palm, and Harry was so stunned that the man thought he could silence him in that manner, as if he were a child throwing a temper-tantrum, that he did actually stop speaking.

"You've said everything you needed to last night. Now it is my turn to defend myself." He started walking once more, and reluctantly, Harry followed suit. "You think me too arrogant for my station, and mistake my well-justified pride for vanity; that is the first claim I shall endeavour to rebuke."

"And how, pray tell, will you accomplish that?" Harry demanded, frowning deeply as they walked further and the trees gave way to a small clearing. They walked to the centre of it, at which point Gaunt stopped, pulled out his wand from the inner pocket of his coat, and wordlessly begun to erect wards around them that each shimmered briefly as they enveloped the clearing in a small dome before disappearing entirely.

"We duel," Gaunt answered simply, "so you may realize the severity of your ignorance." It was not said with any conceit, or condescension, spoken only straightforwardly, as if it were the conveying of a mere fact.

Harry bristled at the statement, readily shedding his coat and throwing it aside, snatching his own wand out of his pocket. Gaunt's lips curved slightly in what appeared to him as amusement, but was in actuality more akin to satisfaction, as he too slipped his coat off and took several steps back, creating a small distance between them as was the norm during duels. Both had their wands at the ready.

"Remember that this was _your _idea when you find yourself lying on your back, at the mercy of my wand." Harry taunted spitefully.

"Oh?" Gaunt smiled more openly now, eyes slipping down from Harry's face to his body and gleaming with intensity. "Eager to get me on my back, are you, Potter?"

"You—" Harry's face turned the brightest shade of red, before he flung his wand into action with a roar. "_Impedimenta_!"

Ordinarily, when in a duel, one would bow to their opponent first before the battle started. Even before that, they ought to lay down the ground rules, agreeing for example that no curses that could do serious or permanent bodily harm were allowed, or banning the use of any mind-related magic as it was such a tricky think to get right, as it might result into accidentally Obliviating the last three years of your opponent's memory.

However, his outrage and, in truth, sheer mortification at Gaunt's _shameless _words and gaze had made Harry forget his code of chivalry—it was not as if he caught Gaunt off-guard in the first place. Most likely it had been a ploy. The gentleman, having expected it, flicked aside the spell that would've otherwise knocked him back from the sheer force of it, and it ricocheted between the trees, vanishing a second later.

In fact, by the time Harry's spell disappeared behind the forest canopy, Gaunt had already fired three successive spells on his own. The first, Harry was uncertain had even meant to hid him, being only a cover for the second spell that pulled the roots of trees from the soil and made them wrap around Harry's legs. The third spell was the real one meant to neutralize him, but by then, and only due to his razor-sharp reflexes, Harry had burned through the roots with an incendiary charm and had sought cover behind the trees while hurling several paralysing curses at Gaunt, all of which either missing or being deflected by a translucent barrier.

Harry preferred cover. He was not like his father, or godfather, who never seemed out of hexes and jinxes to fire during a duel, being able to throw them around so vigorously that their hands appeared almost to be blurs. Harry was, in that respect, more like his mother; he preferred to take a moment to breathe and assess the situation. He might be impulsive in every other way, and he often took great risks, but he never took those risks without weighing the scales first. This tactic worked well against types like his father, of which there were plenty in Godric's Hollow, but Gaunt was a different sort.

Indeed, Gaunt seemed entirely immune to it. _His _magic was unlike any Harry had ever seen; spells that manipulated the environment, played with the elements as if they were toys. Harry scarcely had the time to duck to avoid the swinging branches of the tree he was hiding against lest he be hit in the head. Gaunt had turned even his cover into his enemy.

He was a terrifying force of nature, there was no other way to describe it. The earth suddenly tried swallowing Harry's feet, the leaves and twigs on the ground turned into angrily hissing snakes, and even the very air itself became distorted, making it hard for him to breathe and resulting into an unpleasant, lightheaded feeling while the branches around him continuously attempted to knock his head off.

It was all he could do to blow away the snakes, keeping low to the ground, and struggling to free himself from the mud-turned-quicksand. A _Finite Incantatum _took care of the latter, and as for the former, he managed to distract a majority of the dozen or so serpents by transfiguring some pebbles into mice, after which he stumbled out of cover, to a waiting Mr. Gaunt.

"You disappoint me, Potter," said he. "I expected more of you."

Harry replied with a _Stupefy_.

Cover did not work, but going toe-to-toe with Gaunt was hardly better. Hexes grazed so close to his cheeks and torso that he felt the singe of one burning through his clothes unto his skin, ears ringing. He knew Gaunt was truly beyond him—while Harry's chest was heaving painfully and his wrist and the muscles in his arms screamed in protest the longer it went on, Gaunt looked entirely at ease, a bit amused if anything. He easily kept pace with the constant stream of curses, where Harry was starting to falter.

Clearly, conventional tactics would not work. So Harry did something unconventional.

One spell out of ten he fired within seven seconds purposefully missed its target; it was not a hex or a curse to begin with. It was a Caterwauling Charm.

The Caterwauling Charm was a very simple spell set around a certain area. Any unauthorized person who crossed the perimeter of this area would prompt the most ungodly scream, serving as an alarm against intruders. Harry fired it off right in front of Gaunt's feet, and started taking steps back, hoping to goad the man into walking forward.

Gaunt, in all his hubris, fell for it. He took a step—a high-pitched shriek tore through the air. It only arrested him for a second, but a second was all Harry needed.

With a triumphant shine in his eyes, he yelled once more, "_Stupefy_!"

At what seemed to be the exact same time, Gaunt managed to gather himself just in time to retaliate with, "_Immobulus_!"

A yellow stream of light met a blue one half-way, and the two collided, but did not break, instead locked and pushing and pulling against each other. Harry felt something tingling in his fingers that quickly spread to his hand and the rest of his arm, a buzzing sort of sensation he could not explain, and from Gaunt's wide eyes, neither could he.

Somehow, their wands connected.


End file.
